


How to Open an Iron Chest

by yozra



Series: The Black Cat [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Angst and Feels, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bartender!Moniwa, Break Up, Cheating, DJ!Tendou, Getting Together, Implied Sexual Content, Infidelity, M/M, Post-Break Up, alternative universe, hints of supernatural happenings, rarepairs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 08:04:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20963225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yozra/pseuds/yozra
Summary: Moniwa had gone through his life being a mystery.Unfortunately, Tendou happened to be a fan of picking mysteries apart.





	How to Open an Iron Chest

The title of dark horse attached to Moniwa’s name was not self-proclaimed but given by people he had met throughout his life, strangers and friends alike.   
  
He didn’t know why he had earned it or if he even liked it, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t revel a tiny bit in having each person shroud him in another layer of mystery – though he didn’t know if he deserved it when it was essentially a nifty way of saying he was a deceiver.  
  
(But who was he deceiving, really?)  
  
The interactions over the counters usually flowed like so:  
  
People came up to the bar. They ordered a drink. He started making the drink. They asked how long he had been on the job. He answered fifteen years (increased by one annually).   
  
There would be a pause, and he would glance up to find a frown where they worked out the maths, quickly realising when the answer came to his low-teens that they had been fooled by his youthful appearance, and adjusted the starting point to the youngest ‘legal’ age of serving drinks at eighteen, then became doubly surprised at both his age and his work experience.  
  
They would then start testing him – names of drinks, how to make them, how to infuse original twists, the top obscure drinks ordered, the top obscure drinks encountered. He answered smoothly with good humour even as he thought it was natural that anyone with his level of experience would acquire this knowledge by working in the field for so long.   
  
They would then push further for why he specifically chose bartending as a part time job (popular options of shop clerk, waiter or tutor were comparatively unstimulating) and then why he chose it as a profession (interactions with diverse clientele, unearthing hidden drinks, infinite number of combinations).   
  
By this time he would finish making the drink and the customer would return to their friends, or relatives, or partners, or potential partners they had been eyeing during the conversation, and the next customer would shuffle forward so he could restart the conversation all over.

But not at The Black Cat.  
  
Considering he had a subconscious tendency to apply to and work at bars where the volume of music required voices to be raised appropriately and forced conversations to be peppered with “Sorry?” and “What?” and “Can you say that again?” from both parties, it was strange then that he should be working somewhere so subdued as The Black Cat. It was the final line in the job description that attracted him – _Good listening ear to broken hearts_. He usually avoided work that involved anything more than taking orders, but this requirement highlighted two points: the customers only talked about themselves, and their emotions were too raw for flirting. Moniwa applied right away.  
  
Kuroo had been the first interviewer who hadn’t probed for reasons behind his extensive work experience or life choices. He looked almost bored as he started down at the resume, shooting off quick questions: what happened at his last workplace (it closed down), why was he a good addition to the team (reliable, friendly, fifteen years under his belt), favourite drink (Stahl und Eisen; he flicked a glance at that). He then pushed the resume aside, looked Moniwa in the eye and asked his current relationship status (single).   
  
With the follow-up question – when was his last relationship – Moniwa realised he was under fire and asked if the invasion into his privacy was necessary (nicely, of course, he didn’t want to let on that he thought him weird). Kuroo answered they were make-or-break questions which would result in a position or rejection.  
  
They were simple enough to be answered on autopilot. Last relationship (two years ago), how long (nearly three years), who ended it (his partner), why— (differences in opinion).  
  
Kuroo stared, one eyed-gaze burning with the intensity of two. He picked up the clipboard and said, “Okay, you’re hired. If you’re happy to be here and don’t have any questions we can sort out your schedule.”  
  
And after his week’s trial he was being pulled aside and told to take the early shift the following Thursday, which was when Kuroo brought up ‘The Curse’.  
  
Moniwa believed in the supernatural as much as the next person – in other words, he respected sacred areas such as shrines and temples, avoided rumoured areas of malicious or vengeful ghosts, poured a precautionary mound of salt in the corner of his apartment entrance as his mother did, and laughed at paper fortunes drawn on New Year’s Day while secretly believing them to be true. He also believed in the sixth sense because he had honed his to pick out liars. For example, people praising him for being the perfect boyfriend material was a nice way of saying they wanted a quick rendezvous in the restroom. A compliment that he was the best bartender in the world was them fishing for a free drink. In the case of Kuroo, not only did he not have a reason to lie but he wasn’t of the lying type (at least not to others – it was too early then to see whether he was to himself).  
  
There was another reason Moniwa believed Kuroo was telling the truth and that was the manic strobe lighting that greeted him when he turned on the lights on the first early Thursday shift at the bar.  
  
Moniwa marched straight for the clipboard of Important Notes he had glimpsed Kuroo referring to and back outside to sift through them under the stable daylight. Opening times, inventory, usual list of rules surrounding the bar, _unusual_ list of rules surrounding the bar – once he had read through it all he stepped back in, returned the board to its place, got out the strip of dried fish, strode up to the cat, and stared down at it for a good minute.  
  
“I’m sorry I didn’t have a chance to introduce myself personally to you, I would have done if Kuroo had mentioned you earlier. I’m Moniwa Kaname. I understand you must be wary of newcomers, but I’ll do my best to keep this bar in running order while I’m on shift.”  
  
The lights stilled, blinked once as if processing his words, and began to flicker in a way that he could only describe as giggling.  
  
Moniwa never mentioned to Kuroo he made the offering, because Kuroo never put it in his list of duties. He also never mentioned that he actually came in an extra hour early on top of the two he was scheduled; this was because while preparing the bar the first time, Moniwa caught sight of nooks and crannies lightly coated in dust.  
  
The first was around the uncased skeleton clock hanging at the centre on the wall opposite to the bar, different gold-coloured cogs dotted with jewel bearings; he put down ‘cotton buds’ onto his shopping list. He shifted his gaze to the side to inspect the lights – more specifically the metal part of the sconce, the ridge of the plate patterned with a tight weave that unravelled downwards into vines bearing tiny drops of jewels glittering iridescent under the quivering lights, some of the fruit within their clutches, others hanging off the tips threatening to fall.   
  
And then of course there was the narrow strip of wood that stretched along the whole wall, with enough room from the ceiling to fit a jigger. It acted as a shelf for the cat figurines of different cultures and statures and ornatures made of semi-precious stones, peering down as silent friends and relatives of the black cat declaring herself head by sitting at the centre of action. Moniwa examined one, tutted, and immediately went on to place each one in order along the counter, giving the shelf a good clean before rubbing each cat gently with the softest cloth available and placing them carefully back.  
  
When he checked the time he had to rush to give the rest of the bar a minimal clean. He passed Kuroo’s initial inspection, but decided to dedicate his own time into the full upkeep of the bar and its trove. After all, it wasn’t as though he had anything better to do.  
  
On this Thursday, Moniwa had just finished sweeping the floors when the door opened, and he looked up, a greeting ready to be released when he reeled it back in time at Kuroo shuffling in.  
  
Circles a shade darker under his eyes, hair limp and resembling an unwatered plant, and the slouch he normally walked around with almost rivalled that of the little old lady Moniwa greeted on his walk to work, hunching over her trolley as she made her way to the supermarket. Moniwa was seriously considering the odds of a bone slipping out of place to permanently distort his posture.  
  
“Is everything okay between you and Semi?”  
  
Kuroo paused a fraction of a second when closing the door and abandoned halfway the reflexive raise of eyebrows.  
  
“It’s fine,” Kuroo said, walking past. “A small setback.”  
  
He disappeared under the first doorway into the small adjoining room, appearing immediately around at the other, flipping up the counter.  
  
Moniwa was suspicious of the overly neutral tone and lack of lewdness.  
  
“Do you want to talk about it?”  
  
Kuroo smirked, a taut line just barely curled at the edges. “Heard enough talk from Semi to be honest with you.”  
  
Moniwa placed his hands on his hips. “That’s not you talking about it though, is it.”  
  
Kuroo made a noncommittal sound and swatted the reasoning away like he was stopping it from landing on his conscience.  
  
Moniwa gave a sharp sigh and pursed his lips. Kuroo may be avoiding eye contact but he had to be feeling the unwavering stare. “I was there for most of your flirting. I know Semi’s ID, I could easily add him to my contacts and get the details directly off him.”  
  
The glare Kuroo threw would have been threatening if it wasn’t shaded in fear. “You could, but you won’t.”  
  
“No. Because you’ll talk to him.”  
  
“...I’ll think about it.”  
  
Kuroo disappeared under the counter where he remained out of sight, rustles and shuffling giving off the impression of busyness.  
  
Half an hour later Bokuto strode in, dishevelled as always with his waistcoat unbuttoned, his shirt untucked, and the top two buttons of his shirt undone.  
  
Kuroo had never been strict on appearance, declaring their dress emphasised personality, and if Bokuto was scruffy no one cared because his smile and enthusiasm more than made up for it. Moniwa on the other hand liked to have all his buttons done up and a black bowtie to complete the look. Kuroo also wore a bowtie but – unlike Moniwa who pulled his sleeves firmly down – had his thing of rolling his cuffs over twice, pushing them up to his elbows when he meant business, only to have them slowly fall within minutes. Ushijima was as neat as Moniwa, only his shirt hugged his body tighter and he chose to accessorise with the less-formal necktie. In contrast, Azumane preferred his shirt loose and the position of his sleeves indicated comfort level with his most recent customer. Iwaizumi roughly rolled his sleeves to above the elbows and undid the top button of his shirt scrapping all neckwear, saying he hated having something restricting his throat.  
  
Had he the authority Moniwa wouldn’t personally endorse non-uniformity as a uniform, but he understood and accepted Kuroo’s reasoning behind the idea. However, as with all things a line had to be drawn somewhere, and that line was in the form of a skipped button revealing Bokuto’s toned chest through the revealing gap it created.  
  
“Shirt, Bokuto,” Moniwa gently advised.  
  
“What?” Bokuto looked down. “Oh, yeah – thanks!” He started to undo his buttons to realign them into the right holes, then got busy with the last of their preparations.  
  
The bar’s drop in activity from Wednesday to Thursday was apparent. It was a fact that a maximum of three customers would sit within any given hour, zero being equally common, during which time the three talked amongst themselves.  
  
At ten p.m. one man – middle-aged and muttering obscenities – was sitting beside Morion with Kuroo as his listening ear. Moniwa and Bokuto stood at the far end, giving as much space as physically possible, the stance they all took when they had little to do but wait.  
  
A light, sprightly ringing form the door had Moniwa straightening.   
  
“Welcome!”  
  
He turned to Bokuto who looked equally surprised by the greeting called in unison.  
  
The man – hair coloured red in a style resembling Bokuto’s with the way his fringe fell over his eyes – stopped to look at them. “Do you practice that?”  
  
Moniwa smiled at the customer. “It was an accident.”  
  
“A happy accident” – the man pointed both his fingers at them – “love the energy, you both actually sound like you mean it. Don’t you hate it when people drawl their welcomes or don’t even bother to look in your direction when they call out?” He didn’t wait for a reply, just hummed to himself as he walked over to sit himself down in the central seat and picking up the menu.  
  
“We did sound good,” Bokuto muttered to Moniwa. “I’ll serve him – he looks like fun.”  
  
Moniwa was sure Bokuto and this customer would get on swimmingly. If the man was upset he wasn’t showing it, and even if he sunk into the story of his failed romance their conversation would likely take a turn for the dynamic. Not a bad thing, but it was a Thursday and people were generally sombre. The one Kuroo was serving certainly was (as was always the case when people took the seat beside the cat), and any raised voices would disturb them and anyone else who decided to enter.  
  
“Why don’t you let me take this one, Bokuto,” Moniwa’s words stopped him. “You carry on with your break.”  
  
“But you opened up, if anyone should be on a break it’s you.”  
  
Moniwa already anticipated Bokuto’s kind nature piping up and was one step ahead. “Kuroo’s feeling a little down, I think he could do with an extra hand and some cheering up.”  
  
Bokuto widened his eyes. “He didn’t tell me—”  
  
“He doesn’t want to worry you,” Moniwa insisted. It was probably true. “But he’ll appreciate the help.”  
  
“Sure, I can do that,” Bokuto said, eagerly nodding, and walked determinedly past the new customer towards Kuroo, leaving Moniwa to serve the new customer.  
  
The man looked up from the menu as Moniwa came to stand before him. “I was hoping it’d be you.”  
  
“Oh? Why’s that?”  
  
The man nodded to the other two. “Aside from Bedhead being busy with a customer, he looks like the sneaky type with something up both his sleeves. Mister Happy might be a good talk but I don’t trust him to make my drink.”  
  
“And what is it you wanted to drink?”  
  
With a tilt of the head, the man said, “A Chocolatini.” It was almost like he was gauging his reaction.  
  
Moniwa had long stopped being surprised by unsuspecting orders. “In defence of ‘Mister Happy’, he wouldn’t have ruined your drink.”  
  
“Ah, I haven’t finished – I want one with a surprise twist. And no offence to him, but I imagine his take would be to drown the drink in chocolate syrup. Now don’t get me wrong, I love chocolate. But it’s not much of a surprise when I know what’s coming.”  
  
Moniwa played out the scene in his head and refrained from admitting that it ended as the man predicted.  
  
“One Chocolatini with a twist coming right up.”  
  
Irish cream liqueur, chocolate liqueur, vanilla vodka, chocolate sauce – Moniwa pulled out each of the bottles and lined them on the lower counter to be measured. He stole a glance at the man as he added each ingredient to the shaker; the man was watching his hands in absolute fascination. There was a swell of pride at that thought – but it was quickly shaken clear when he considered the final, mystery ingredient.  
  
Chocolate indicated a sweet tooth, though not enough to have more of the same. Fruit added a good balance, and another glance – gentle red – pushed him towards a decision.  
  
A dash of raspberry sauce added vibrancy to the milky brown swirls, and Moniwa topped it off with three frozen raspberries skewered on a pick balanced across the rim.  
  
He placed the glass carefully on the counter table. “Your drink.”  
  
The man plucked the pick off and held the glass up to his lips, pausing just short of drinking. “You went with the hair, didn’t you?” His accusation was light-hearted.  
  
“Not entirely – it was a toss-up between raspberry and orange. I guessed you might favour sweet over sour.”  
  
“You guessed rightly.” He took a sip and licked the chocolate off his lips. “Mmm. What’s your name, Mister Bartender?”  
  
“Moniwa. Pleased to—”  
  
“No, no, your first name.”  
  
“Oh—” Moniwa hesitated out of surprise. It was already rare to be asked for his name, and this may even have been the first time anyone took a step into personal territory. He had come across all sorts and knew when one needed caution, but the man here didn’t trigger any alarms. Moniwa would answer honestly. “Kaname.”  
  
“Kaname-kun, hm? Tell me, what’s the protocol for this bar? Do I wait until I’m smashed before spilling my deepest darkest secret, or do I start right away?”  
  
Moniwa laughed. “There aren’t any rules here, do whatever you feel is best.”  
  
The man placed the drink carefully to the side so he could lean forward on his arms, closing their distance. “Seeing as you made me a nice drink, I’ll entertain you with my first head-over-heels crush at high school.”  
  
“That sounds like a story I can’t pass up. I’m all ears.”  
  
The man took a deep breath. “It was the summer of my final year of high school. I, a naive little boy of eighteen, had been drowning in the daily drudgery of revising for entrance exams and needed a pick-me-up, so wandered off to buy myself a bar of chocolate ice cream. On my return home, walking down the local shopping arcade with the ice cream in my mouth, I caught a glimpse of a strapping young man striding towards me. He had the kind of muscular arms you’d want wrapped around you even on a sweltering day of thirty-eight degrees and sixty-percent humidity, and his thighs were like tree trunks – I would have thought twice about having his legs wrapped around my waist because he’d probably crush me like a milk carton but” – he leaned in further, head sticking out over the counter, eyes barely visible behind his fringe; Moniwa instinctively leaned in – “you knew with him, you were more likely to meet your end by being pounded into the bed.”   
  
The man shifted back onto his seat. “Anyway, I thought he was a mirage at first, the air was steaming – or maybe the steam was coming off from him, I’m not sure – but I noticed he had on a uniform from one of the other high schools and my imagination’s good but only on things that matter so I knew he had to be real. I had to stop and watch him, his strong jaw, his ferocious gaze, and as he walked right past me I heard the ring of a bell – though I realised it came from the cafe I was standing in front of, but it might as well have been my heart because at that very moment I had declared in my head: ‘Today marks the day I fell in love!’”  
  
The man was standing up, posing tall with one hand pointing to the ceiling. “Or something like that, my memory’s a little fuzzy,” he said, deflating into his seat with a sigh, love-struck all over again. “I’ve never managed to meet anyone like him. I wonder what he’s doing now.”  
  
“Do you still hold a flame for him?” Moniwa asked. With the story finished he promptly began returning bottles back onto the shelves.  
  
The man pulled off a raspberry with his teeth and slowly ruminated. “A flame’s too strong, more like a smouldering ember ready to be rekindled. I’d like to see him in the flesh just once, just to see how he turned out. I was so sure he’d become a famous athlete and I’d see his face plastered everywhere.”  
  
“Would you confess? If you saw him again.”  
  
“If he looked like he did before? Maybe.” The man shot a sly smile. “I bet you think I’m shallow for saying that.”  
  
“I’m in no position to judge—”  
  
“You _do_ think I’m shallow—”  
  
“_—but_ I believe in not wasting chances if it leads to regret.”  
  
“Wise words, Kaname-kun, wise words.” The man swallowed and pulled off another raspberry, then pointed his pick at him. “What about you? What’s your story?”  
  
Moniwa shook his head. “I don’t have an interesting story to tell.”  
  
“Denying it only ramps up your intrigue. Plus it’s not fair for you to know one of my secrets and me not know anything about you.”  
  
“I thought you shared it as a tip for a well-made drink?”  
  
The man narrowed his eyes. “You’re a crafty one, aren’t you?”  
  
“I’m not sure about crafty, but us bartenders have to retain our air of mystery.”  
  
The man hummed, one that sounded sceptical of Moniwa’s reasoning. He pulled the final raspberry free, his hooded eyes studying Moniwa as he chewed.  
  
He suddenly sighed dramatically. “Now I can’t get the image of Wakatoshi-kun out of my head.”   
  
Clearly any thoughts on Moniwa had been replaced by his crush—  
  
“—Wakatoshi-kun?”  
  
“The boy from next high-school door,” the man explained, mistaking Moniwa’s request for confirmation with confusion. “I found out his name when I told my friends I saw Adonis over the holidays and retold my story. They told me I was the last to know and half the school had confessed to him already.”  
  
Moniwa gave his guess a shot. “Ushijima Wakatoshi?”  
  
The man brightened. “You know him? Did you two go to the same school? Or did _we_ go to the same school, was it—”  
  
“No, no, he – he works at this bar.”  
  
The man began to chew on the end of his pick and murmured around it, “Well, how about that. It really is a small world we live in.”  
  
First Kuroo, then Azumane, now Ushijima – the domino effect from Morion was in full motion and Moniwa was glad his friends were being thrown a lifeline to escape their misery.  
  
So long as the last tile remained standing.  
  
“He’s here Fridays and Saturdays if you want to speak to him,” Moniwa said, dabbling in matchmaking as he nudged the customer in the right direction. “Oh, and the Tuesday after next, but he’s not a regular then.”  
  
“I see what you’re trying to do and – I think I just might have to take advantage of your tip-off. But I’m not as youthful as I used to be, could my heart take seeing him again? Does he by chance look like” – the man’s hair flapped madly with his shaking head and held his arms out in refusal – “on second thoughts, don’t tell me, part of the thrill is in the surprise. Going by the looks of you, he hasn’t let himself go.”  
  
“Oh, he’s far more attractive than me, trust me.”  
  
“You shouldn’t sell yourself short, Kaname-kun. You’ve got an approachable, trustworthy look going for you.”  
  
Moniwa felt his smile slacken, a drop in sincerity.  
  
“Hm?”  
  
The man shot forward – Moniwa flinched at the sudden motion but stood his ground – and leaned on his arms, barely perching on the edge of his seat, eyes sparkling from having caught a flash of something intriguing and needing to inspect its legitimacy.  
  
“You didn’t like that.”  
  
Moniwa glanced to the side, back to him. “Erm—”  
  
“Was it the approachable? Or trustworthy?”  
  
“I don’t—”  
  
The man pushed himself deeper back into his seat. “No need to answer, I know you won’t tell me the truth. Not today, anyway.”  
  
He rummaged around his small messenger bag for his wallet, then rummaged again in his wallet for the exact price of eighteen hundred yen. “Will I be lucky enough to catch you on Fridays and Saturdays and the Tuesday after next?”  
  
“Tuesday after next,” Moniwa said, holding out his hand to take the money. “Though you don’t want to wait that long to speak to him.”  
  
“We’ll see how I feel, my sensitive heart might need time to prepare.” The man gave a final stare down at Moniwa again. “Bye-bye, Kaname-kun.”  
  
“Have a good evening,” Moniwa replied, watching the man leave. He wondered if the next time he saw him, he would have gotten together with Ushijima.

* * * * * * *

If turning right at the exit of Moniwa’s apartment building and walking twenty-two minutes led him to The Black Cat, turning left and walking twenty-seven minutes led him to Roppongi and the night club FES, his other workplace between Friday night and Tuesday morning. In the daylight it was an unassuming building mingled among other bars and restaurants along the road, though once night closed in the outside lanterns burned golden yellow and lights danced behind the fox masks bringing them to life.  
  
During the walk on Monday, his last evening working there before returning to The Black Cat, Moniwa made a mental list of household chores that needed tending to on his rare Tuesday off. He completed the list and mentally filed it away when he entered the building, the corridors dark until he stepped out into the large room lit with heavy white fluorescent lights.  
  
“Morning,” he called, squinting at the figure – Kita, the head bartender – standing hunched behind the bar. That meant one thing. “The twins are late _again_? How many days have they been late this week?”  
  
“Every day.”  
  
At the voice answering him from above, Moniwa looked up to find Terushima jogging down the spiral staircase and jumping over the last few. The yellow shirt he was wearing was too bright on the eyes, but would become a perfect shade to complement his hair once the main lights darkened.  
  
“Ain’t complaining though,” Terushima continued. “They’ve been working on a new routine and lemme tell you, _it is amazing_.”  
  
He was of course talking about the Miya twins and the flairtending performance they burst out with at random points in the evening. Some people came to the club solely to see them knock bottles on their elbows and chests as they twirled shakers, or throw the bottles to (or depending on if they had an argument, at) each other across the counter just barely short of grazing the tops of Moniwa and Kita’s heads as they continued to take orders.  
  
Terushima slapped Moniwa on the back as he came up, then slid his arm up around his shoulder. “Still, could do with another solid pair of hands. You sure you don’t want to ditch the other bar and work here full time? The offer’s always open where you’re concerned.”  
  
Moniwa laughed at the question he had heard countless times before and repeated his usual answer. “I appreciate it, but I like working there as well.”  
  
“One of these days I’m gonna personally go down there and speak with the owner face to face. I thought when the other place shut down you’d fill the rest of your time here instead of finding somewhere new.” Terushima sighed and released him. “Just have to try again next month, and the month after, till I grind you down to a yes—”  
  
“It’s been five years,” Kita interrupted quietly, monotonously, accusingly, with a suggestive ‘and you’re still asking the same question’.  
  
“The month I stop asking’s gonna be the month he would’ve cracked,” Terushima defended. “Anyway, lemme go and check on security. Remember, you two – Mondays are slow but I’m still counting on you to make it the best.”  
  
It wasn’t long before the room was filled to the brim with neon spotlights graffitiing dancers jumping and shouting to the fast, heavy beats.  
  
The sounds hammered at Moniwa’s skull and more importantly, drowned out the faint voices leaking from an encasement formed by sheets of shame and penance, welded by remorse. Moniwa knew they wouldn’t be contained forever – a wrong word or a turn of phrase could easily trigger the slapdash handiwork to collapse – but at least he had found a temporary solution in the form of relentless rhythms and people’s troubles, and an endless list of tasks to be completed inside his head.

Moniwa unlocked the door to his home – the night’s music still echoing in his head – and entered his studio apartment dark from the thick curtains left drawn. He refreshed himself with a shower, changed into shorts and t-shirt, threw his clothes into the washing machine with the rest of his dirty laundry and set a timer for it to be finished at noon in time with his first alarm. He trudged up to his bed and crawled in, eyes already heavy when his head hit the pillow. He fell asleep to phantom beats and ringing in his ears.

Two beeping alarms – one by his ear, the other in the distance – pulled Moniwa back to the living world, and he automatically pushed himself up to head for the washing machine where he picked through the items, dropping them one by one into the basket. The tinnitus was a faint hum in the background while he hung his clothes on the washing line to the sound of cars and horns and trains and drilling from the construction work three buildings away. He headed to the corner kitchen, ate his usual lunch of rice topped with his favourite seaweed paste, miso soup, some fish and today simmered pumpkin while checking the weather (rain forecasted for the evening), checking cloud moment (rain at five p.m.) and set the alarm again for four. He headed to the kitchen to wash the dishes, returned to bed, and closed his eyes, sinking quickly back into slumber.

One beeping alarm by his ear pulled him back to the living world, and he automatically pushed himself up to head for the balcony; dark clouds screened the blue skies and he hung his still-damp clothes on the curtain rail. He then got to work in the kitchen, washing and chopping and boiling vegetables to pack them in portions and refrigerate – later freeze – them in preparation for the week ahead. He dropped one portion in the pan to stir fry with noodles for dinner, which he ate with the television as his companion, staring at the glaring, blaring scenes chopping and changing between programme and commercial until he couldn’t tell which was which. He startled out of his trance, found he was holding an empty bowl and set a timer for the television to turn off in an hour. He headed to the kitchen to wash the dishes, returned to bed, and closed his eyes, where it took longer for the murmurs from the box to lull him back into slumber.

The third time he opened his eyes, there was quiet. He listened to intermittent swooshes from the main road running parallel to his building and rolled over to grab his phone – ‘1:57’ glared back at him. Three minutes and Asahi and Iwaizumi on duty for the night would go home, leaving Kuroo to finish cleaning up for the night and return to – where? Moniwa checked for new messages, found two unread from Semi (Moniwa had secretly messaged Semi out of concern, only to receive large chunks of text related to problems and solutions on dealing with Kuroo, which became digestible when broken up by his advice). There was a photo of Kuroo washing up, mouth open as if talking, not yet aware he was about to be photographed. Underneath was a short message: _Sorted, thanks_. Moniwa snorted softly, turned off his phone, stared up at the ceiling.  
  
This was the worst, lying alone in the dark, in the quiet, with his memories clawing at his constructed chest, scraping his nerves—  
  
He shot out of bed. Stripped off his clothes, pulled on a shirt and jeans and a light jacket, grabbed his keys, marched out.  
  
His footsteps were swift through the streets void of life until he turned the corner and saw a convenience store that trapped at least one other soul. He continued onwards, across the main road, zigzagging along the side streets until he could see the door of foxes and lanterns, an entrance to another world.  
  
Omimi the bouncer stood tall even when the line of people had dissolved, and beside him Bobata slouched against the door, chattering away; at the sight of Moniwa they let him through, one with a nod and one a cheery wave, and Moniwa relaxed in the familiar room currently in uproar by the twins’ antics. The sight of Kita in the crossfire was almost laughable, too engrossed in his drink-making – or simply ignoring everything that prevented him from steadily ploughing through orders, never a single flinch at the near-misses that could potentially knock him out or send a deadly shower over his head.  
  
Moniwa didn’t feel like explaining himself tonight like he had been forced to the previous three Tuesdays – twice to Kita who remarked escapism wasn’t a good habit, once to Terushima who spent until dawn trying to convince him this was where his heart yearned to stay. He wandered away from the bar, skulking between the wall and the edge of the crowd.  
  
He knocked his shoulder into someone, and he turned to face a man taller than him with well-defined arms and bleached blond hair, whose glare shifted into an accommodating grin.  
  
“Hey there. If you’re done with this place—”  
  
_“—how ‘bout we head somewhere quiet and talk.”_  
  
Moniwa stumbled back. It shouldn’t be happening – not here, not right now at a place he believed would forge his makeshift container – words long forgotten leaking from a crack in the walls.  
  
He fled.  
  
He bounced between the dancing bodies, a pinball trying to reach one of the side exits. He knocked hard into someone, shouted an apology and tripped backwards into the narrow darkness, just barely regaining his balance before running for the neon green emergency sign, pushing the bar open to feel the rush of outside air hit his face, an ice pack to his panic.  
  
Moniwa propped his arms on his thighs – the door closed behind him with a definitive metallic thud – gulped down air as he stared at the concrete lit up in orange from the lamppost overhead.   
  
He inhaled in time with the muffed beats to a count of four, released to eight. He could sense the wave of selectively-forgotten words pushing against the walls – or maybe they would be images this time of what he had done – and he needed to locate the gap—  
  
A clunk of metal had him turning round at the person exiting – a man with a sleepy gaze on him, red shirt matching the hair spiked up above his head. Moniwa was sure he didn’t know who he was, but the face wasn’t unfamiliar—  
  
_Chocolatini._  
  
His heart lurched, dread dousing him slowly from the crown.   
  
Moniwa felt his pulse spiking again and dropped his gaze back to his feet. He could see the man’s feet come into view from behind, walking all the way to stand in front of him, toes pointed in his direction.  
  
“Why do you look like you’re running from a ghost?”   
  
The man dropped down to a squat, throwing his head back so their eyes met. “That’s the first question that popped into my head, but I won’t ask.”  
  
Moniwa felt his breathing ease.  
  
“Do you come here often?”  
  
There wasn’t a point to lying. “I work here.”  
  
The man’s eyes blinked wider. “It’s a lot different from your other workplace. I wouldn’t have thought this would be your kind of scene.”  
  
“I’ve actually worked here longer.”  
  
Moniwa was sure the surprise he felt at seeing eyes grow even bigger and eyebrows raise even higher had to be bigger than the man’s at Moniwa’s answer.  
  
“Kaname-kun, you’re a real character, you know that? And a very rare breed indeed.”  
  
“...I’m sorry?”  
  
“Don’t be, it’s a compliment. Only a select few surprise me like you do.”  
  
Moniwa wanted to tear his gaze away from the man who was scrutinising him, but he was entranced by the burnt-red of his eyes.  
  
A hand shot up, rupturing his daze.  
  
“Tendou Satori. Call me anything but ‘Tendou-san’.” He wiggled his fingers. “It’s polite to accept a handshake.”  
  
Moniwa tentatively reached out, fingers grazing fingers—  
  
Tendou grabbed his hand, tugged hard, toppled Moniwa forward; Moniwa grabbed onto Tendou’s shoulder for support, just short of knocking their foreheads together or even squashing him under his weight.  
  
“You know what they say about eyes being windows to the soul – try as you might to hide your secrets, you can’t hide your emotions.” Tendou’s eyes flickered like a flame as he tried to burn through the dark chestnut of Moniwa’s, eager to devour the fruit concealed within. “You have very pretty eyes—”  
  
Moniwa jerked his hand back, pushed off Tendou’s shoulder so he stumbled backwards.   
  
“I’m sorry – for falling on you—”  
  
Tendou languidly pushed himself up, stretching his clasped hands to the sky and leaning to the right, then the left. “I didn’t mind,” he said, dropping his arms. “And it made my evening. I think I’ll head back inside, I left a friend hanging. You should go home though, Kaname-kun, get yourself some rest. You’re looking a little dark under the eyes.”  
  
Tendou walked along the side of the building, presumably to the front entrance to re-enter the premises. Moniwa’s heart was beating fast again, this time a rhythm that didn’t follow the dull sounds leaking from the walls.   
  
Moniwa did as Tendou suggested, trying to pick apart the confusing encounter until he found himself standing next to his bed where he collapsed onto his duvet. He was knocked out in seconds.

* * * * * * *

During the days that followed, his pulse spiked every time he touched the mysterious conversation, giving up after the fifth try.  
  
Given Tendou’s curiosity, Moniwa expected to find him returning to The Black Cat, or if not there then at FES, but time passed at both venues without a single sighting.  
  
Moniwa didn’t trust the radio silence from a man who couldn’t keep himself from talking.  
  
It was on the Tuesday shift with Ushijima, after two hours of idling and a customer finally appearing in the third to pull Kuroo away, that Moniwa was able to have a quiet word with Ushijima to ask the question floating on his mind.  
  
“You wouldn’t have had a customer with red hair come in these past couple of weeks, would you?”  
  
There was a moment’s reflection from Ushijima. “There were several customers with red hair.”  
  
“...Oh. In that case, you wouldn’t happen to have met one going by the name of Tendou?”  
  
“If you are talking of Tendou Satori, he visited the last two Saturdays.”  
  
“...Oh.”  
  
Well, that was unexpected. Tendou seemed like the type to violently stir up whatever took his interest just so he could see the outcome, no matter how messy it became.  
  
Maybe Moniwa had to reconsider his assessment.  
  
“Was there anything else?”  
  
Moniwa blinked up at Ushijima who watched him expectantly. “What? Oh, no, no. I’m glad everything seems to be working out for you two.”  
  
He could almost see the question mark floating above Ushijima’s head as he said, “Thank you.”  
  
It wasn’t until half an hour later when the door opened and – finally, the man Moniwa had been hoping to see—  
  
Moniwa paused that thought. Hoping was a strange choice. Expecting – _dreading_ – he could understand but hoping—  
  
Tendou came into view and took the free seat in front of him.  
  
Moniwa looked to Ushijima standing in front of the shelf closest to the entrance, returning the bottles Kuroo had pulled out earlier.   
  
He pointed to him and looked back at Tendou. “Ushijima’s over there.”  
  
Tendou’s head followed Moniwa’s finger to where Ushijima stood, who was now staring back.  
  
“Yes, he is.” Tendou gave an enthusiastic wave. “Hi Wakatoshi-kun!”   
  
Ushijima gave a nod.  
  
Moniwa tried again. Maybe Tendou liked the seat in the middle. “Okay,” he said slowly. “Let me fetch him for you.”  
  
Tendou rested his head on his hand, cocked to one side as if seeing Moniwa from a new angle would solve the puzzle he was currently mulling over in his mind. “Why would you do that?”  
  
“Because you’ve come to see him.”  
  
Tendou glanced around conspiratorially and leaned forward, whispering, “Don’t tell him, but I actually prefer the way you mix the drink.”  
  
“...Oh. In that case – the same as before?”  
  
Tendou gave a small nod. “Same as before, with those little raspberries.”  
  
Moniwa got to work, feeling those eyes on him as he remade the drink from two weeks ago. Tendou was here only for his drink. Then Moniwa and Ushijima could switch places, Tendou could carry on teasing Ushijima, and Moniwa could put an end to his fretting.  
  
“Your drink,” Moniwa said, placing the glass on the coaster. “I’ll go and get Ushijima for you—”  
  
“Actually, I thought it’d be nice for us to have a chat. Get a little more intimate with each other.”  
  
The ‘I’ word raised alarms. “Isn’t that what you should be doing with Ushijima?”  
  
Tendou leaned over the counter again, this time not an act but a purposeful closing-in on Moniwa and it took everything for Moniwa not to react.   
  
“Because of that story I told you about my crush?”  
  
Moniwa’s frantic nodding made him feel a little dizzy. “Exactly!”  
  
“It turns out, tastes really do change with age,” Tendou said, mock mournfully. “Don’t get me wrong, Wakatoshi-kun’s still a hottie. But talking to him made me realise – he doesn’t pose a challenge. It’s easy to tell what he’s thinking because he tells me.”  
  
Tendou glanced aside and waved to Ushijima again, who turned to the rapid motion and repeated his nod back. “It’s fine if you want someone upstanding and direct, but that doesn’t do it for me. You, on the other hand” – Tendou turned back to Moniwa – “you’re like a little puzzle box. I’d say yosegi but you’re a lot tougher than wood – maybe like an iron version where you have to push and slide the frames in the right order for it to finally click in place and reveal the goodies inside.”  
  
Moniwa heard a laugh too loud for the small room, and realised it was coming from himself. “No, no, no, no, no – _no_. You’ve got it all wrong. I’m not interesting. There are no ‘goodies’. Do I look like the type of person who has ‘goodies’?”  
  
Tendou kept his eyes on him over the glass as he took a sip; he swallowed and licked his lips. “Yes.”  
  
Moniwa glanced to the side, at Morion, feeling betrayed as he watched the light above her head tittering.  
  
“_No._” Moniwa said this firmly, regaining composure. He wasn’t going to be pushed into the corner. He couldn’t be, when he was already safely tucked behind an iron chest, and Tendou was going to have to do better than tapping at the surface. “You’re guessing wrong.”  
  
“I don’t think I am.”  
  
“I don’t have anything stashed away—”  
  
“‘Stashed’ – now that’s an interesting choice of wording—”  
  
“I’m going to fetch Ushijima—”  
  
“Ah, I’ve offended you.”  
  
Moniwa’s lips tightened into a line. “I’m not offended. You’re just not giving him a fair chance.”  
  
Tendou studied him. “You’re a hard puzzle to crack. Okay, I admit to tapping the wrong trap, I’ll let you alone tonight. No hard feelings?”  
  
Moniwa smiled, the muscles strained. “No hard feelings.”  
  
“Speak to you next time, Kaname-kun,” Tendou took his glass and slipped out of his seat, making his way over to Ushijima.  
  
Moniwa refused to believe there would be a next time.

* * * * * * *

Moniwa ran a hand through his hair, curls held in place by sweat that was covering his face. FES was always busy, but for some reason tonight it was like working double, the queue for drinks growing longer than he or the others could keep up with, his mind too focused on the task to interact with more than the bare minimum of sentences necessary to make the drinks.  
  
“Is it me or is it busy for a Friday?” Moniwa shouted to Kita as he stood next to him washing his hands.  
  
“It’s probably Tendou,” Kita replied, as level-headed as always.  
  
“It’s what?” Moniwa was sure he had heard wrong.  
  
“The DJ,” Kita said, a notch louder; Moniwa caught that clearly. “He’s popular. He worked abroad until recently—”  
  
The sudden uproar around the bar had Moniwa checking the side to find Atsumu holding up two bottles in each hand, signalling the start of the twins’ show and a break for the DJ.   
  
At least orders would slow down. Moniwa shuffled further away from Kita so that they could cover more ground.  
  
“Your order?” Moniwa yelled after serving a gin and tonic, wiping his hands on the towel by his waist. He looked up to find a familiar face, hair stuck up, face gleaming with sweat.  
  
Tendou leaned onto the counter. “Don’t look too pleased to see me,” he said with a grin.  
  
“Same as usual?” Moniwa asked. With his work mode switched on he was able to maintain his professional air.  
  
“Club soda – I don’t drink until I’m done.”  
  
“I thought I heard Kita say you’re the DJ.”  
  
“That I am.”  
  
A whoop and Moniwa instinctively hunched, glancing to find the bottles being thrown above his head. He gave up on asking for details, shelving it for another time.  
  
“You’re a little different here,” Moniwa heard as he pulled up a glass. When he next looked up Tendou’s face was closer; the red of the bar lights reflected danger in his eyes.  
  
Moniwa licked his lips.  
  
To wet his mouth that was dry from humidity, nothing more. “It’s a different bar,” he said, resuming his job of filling up the empty glass. “Not like the Black Cat – can’t share your deepest darkest secret here.”  
  
With the glass filled, Moniwa reached over to place the drink on the counter – Tendou wrapped his hand around the glass – and half over Moniwa’s hand. Moniwa glanced up; Tendou’s eyes were dark.  
  
“I disagree—” Tendou said. “Depends on your secret.”  
  
Moniwa swallowed. “Like?”  
  
“Anything you don’t want heard.”  
  
Moniwa laughed, feeling a frown mix into his smile. “That doesn’t make sense. Why say a secret you don’t want heard, knowing you won’t be heard?”  
  
“Confessing tricks the mind, makes you believe you did your part even if you were drowned out by the noise. Here—”  
  
Tendou was mouthing something – and he was right about his voice being drowned out by the noise – and gave a smirk and a quirk of his eyebrow to close his point.  
  
“What did you say?” Moniwa asked.  
  
“Want to know?” Tendou’s fingers stroked the back of his hand. “I’ll tell you if you share something right now. Like I just did. Your deepest darkest secret.”  
  
Tendou pulled the glass from Moniwa’s slackening grip and like the other night, watched him over the rim of the glass as he drank.  
  
Moniwa could say anything and Tendou wouldn’t know if it had been a truth or lie.   
  
He could say anything that would rid the leaden weight pressing against his chest.  
  
His deepest darkest secret.  
  
Moniwa opened his mouth—  
  
A sudden cheer snapped him to his senses and Moniwa looked to find the twins bowing. He turned back to Tendou, gave a half-shrug – _show’s over_ – and watched Tendou mouth something inaudible. With a wave of his fingers, Tendou turned his back to him and dove into the crowds.  
  
Moniwa was forced to push the exchange aside as the next customer closed in to order.

* * * * * * *

Work on Thursday was like dodging bottles from a heavily ad-libbed Miya performance.  
  
Bokuto arrived ten minutes before opening. Moniwa then realised Kuroo hadn’t come in, called him to listen to an endless string of ringing, and messaged Semi who replied he was at work but would leave early to check up. They opened to three customers queued up along the stairs, Moniwa tending to two leaving Bokuto to deal with the one who was grumbling about the shop being unpunctual. Bokuto smashed their last bottle of vodka. They checked their stock to find they were out. The grumbling man who ordered the martini left. At this point, Iwaizumi came in as a replacement to Kuroo, the saving grace who shot off again to buy a bottle at the convenience store down the road. Not impressed by this order of events, the other two customers left shortly after.  
  
“I’m _really _sorry,” Bokuto apologised for the umpteenth time that evening.  
  
“Bokuto, it happens—”  
  
The bell rang. Moniwa’s heart paused. Iwaizumi entered. The beating resumed.  
  
“You’d think Kuroo’d keep his supplies in check,” Iwaizumi said, holding the bottle out to Moniwa to shelve as he walked past.  
  
“Kuroo really must be ill.” Moniwa didn’t mention that his mind had been wandering as of late and hadn’t monitored the inventory as closely as he normally would have done.  
  
“Hey—” Iwaizumi stopped at the counter flap, frowning at Bokuto before gesturing with a nod. “Your buttons aren’t lined up.”  
  
Moniwa checked to find the bottom button hanging.   
  
He prided himself in being attentive to the small details – Bokuto’s attire, the stock list, the time; he watched Iwaizumi approach Bokuto, pushing Bokuto’s flustered hands away and undoing the first button that would help straighten out the jump. Everything about today was a mess and he pointedly ignored the one happening that could be added to the list of mishaps—  
  
Of course, the bell rang – _of course_, he thought as he shot a glare at Morion with gritted teeth – light above her head absolutely still – then back at Tendou who lolloped in.   
  
“No Testurou-kun?” Tendou asked as he approached Moniwa, keen as ever.  
  
“He’s ill.” The reply was too curt and Moniwa tried again. “Chocolatini again?”  
  
“That’s probably a good idea, I don’t want to pile on more stress.” Tendou slipped into his seat. “Bad day?”  
  
_Now made worse. _“Just a few hitches.”  
  
“Am I one of them?”  
  
Tendou’s words may have been scratches, but the noise was grating on Moniwa’s nerves. Answer no and Tendou would accuse him of lying, answer yes and Tendou would score deeper.   
  
“You don’t know how to answer,” Tendou accused.  
  
“I’m trying to fix you a drink,” Moniwa said neutrally.  
  
He got to work as usual, pulling up bottles with loud clinks, shaking the mixture hard, stabbing the raspberries with the pick.  
  
“You’re not usually this tense,” Tendou said as Moniwa reached out to place the drink.  
  
“I also have a lot of things on my mental list—”  
  
“Should I call you out on not tending to your customers one hundred percent?”  
  
Moniwa slammed the drink onto the counter, creamy brown liquid spilling over onto his hand and the pick rolling onto the counter. “I’m not entertainment, Tendou!”  
  
He clamped his mouth shut, instantly regretting his outburst. The smile may have remained on Tendou’s face, but the reflection in his eyes shifted to pity.  
  
“I’m sorry, Tendou, I’ll make you another—”  
  
The glass slipped out of his fingers before he could grip it firmly.   
  
“No need,” Tendou said, taking a sip. “Tastes as good as ever.”  
  
Moniwa still held out his hand. “That was really rude of me, please, let me make you another—”  
  
Tendou put the glass down out of Moniwa’s reach and stuck a hand into his bag, pulling out a brightly coloured handkerchief dotted with cartoon monsters. “You can use this to wipe your hand.”  
  
“Uh – the chocolate will stain, I’ll just wash it—”  
  
Tendou grabbed his wrist before Moniwa could pull away. “Let me, Kaname-kun,” he murmured, tone hushed.  
  
Tendou slowly drew the soft material over the back of his hand, used short strokes to rub his fingers and even as Tendou’s slender fingers matching his lithe form loosened their hold around his wrist, Moniwa couldn’t pull his hand away – pull his eyes away from the scene.  
  
“I’m surprised you carry one around,” Moniwa found himself dumbly saying.  
  
“Didn’t your mother tell you not to leave the house without packing tissues and a handkerchief?”  
  
Tendou flipped Moniwa’s hand palm-side up to wipe between the fingers, the gentle sensation tickling the sensitive skin and reverberating through his nerves to his chest, unwinding the tautness that had been building up throughout the evening.

Moniwa wondered why he had been dreading his encounter when he didn’t want it to end.  
  
Tendou pulled the handkerchief away and released his wrist. “See.”  
  
The smile directed to Moniwa looked as soft as his tussled hair, the natural kind that could only be seen when someone woke up, vulnerable and too sleepy yet to put up a guard.  
  
“I don’t always poke and pry.”  
  
Had he guessed what Moniwa had just been thinking? But Tendou had been looking down at their hands the entire time Moniwa gazed at the calm concentration – Tendou couldn’t have known.  
  
“Did I come at—”  
  
_“—a bad time, Mossan?”_  
  
Moniwa jerked his hand back at his nickname said in an amused rumble, the line overlapping with that of his memory uttered by the same man leaning against the doorframe, a lopsided grin on his face.  
  
“Sasayan?”  
  
The name leaked from his lips before he could stop himself.  
  
Sasayan – _Sasaya__!_ Moniwa mentally cried_ – _sauntered up, taking a seat beside Tendou who didn’t care about being inconspicuous with his intense stare at the customer joining in.  
  
“You know what I like,” Sasaya said. He turned his head to Tendou and gave a nod to his drink. “What’s that you’ve got there?”  
  
“A Chocolatini,” Tendou replied casually.  
  
“Nice. Got a sweet tooth, huh?”  
  
“For everything.” Tendou leaned on his arm, zoning in on Sasaya. “But I think the question we’re all interested in is: who exactly are _you_, Sasayan-san?”  
  
“I’d say it’s obvious from the weird tension I’ve created.” Sasaya gave a nod to Moniwa. “His ex.”  
  
“Sasaya—”  
  
Sasaya flashed a quick look to Moniwa, before returning to Tendou and saying, “I’m being warned to cork up. You’ll have to ask Moniwa for the details—”  
  
Moniwa didn’t bother to check the measurements, just grabbed the nearest whiskey bottle and sloshed the liquor into the glass, putting it down with a controlled thud in front of Sasaya, jolting the liquid but not enough to send it spilling and pulling his hand away before risking contact.  
  
Sasaya picked up the glass with his fingertips, raising it to eye-level. “A bit scant—”  
  
“We should go outside if you want to talk.”  
  
Sasaya looked at him and Moniwa remembered the half-lidded gaze, lines on his face smiling – eyes cold and hard.  
  
“I’m pretty comfortable where I am—”  
  
“I don’t want to have this conversation in front of people—”  
  
“You’ve never been shy, Moniwa, and he’s gonna have to find out sooner or later—”  
  
“What do you mean—”  
  
“I just stood by the door watching you. I can tell when you’re into someone.”  
  
Nausea surged and fell.  
  
Moniwa had always wondered how the flow of conversation between him and Sasaya would go if they ever met again – shocked into silence, spewing apologies, bursting into tears, begging for forgiveness. It just went to show that a million possibilities could be imagined and reality would still offer the one that hadn’t.  
  
Moniwa checked Tendou to see him eagerly looking at Sasaya with zero intention of leaving his prime viewing position. He exhaled sharply. “How did you find this place?”  
  
“Overheard a woman talking about it being a bar to ‘heal all broken hearts’. Thought I’d give it a shot to ease my conscience and – lo and behold, who do I find but the very person I want to talk about standing behind the counter. Not sure whether luck’s on my side or it wants me to suffer. Whichever way you look at it, that woman was right.”  
  
“What do you mean ‘ease your conscience’?”  
  
Sasaya turned his glass slowly clockwise on the counter, took a swig and murmured, “Might as well get on with it.” He looked up to meet his eyes. “Moniwa. I need to apolo—”  
  
“Don’t—” Moniwa shook his head, stopping Sasaya. “Why are you – why do _you_ need to apologise, you’re not the one who—”  
  
Moniwa was all too aware of the bright red eyes honed in on him and stopped himself.  
  
“I get why you’d think that,” Sasaya said; Moniwa was thankful he didn’t pick up where he cut off. “What you don’t get is – I knew what was going to happen long before you did.”  
  
“Sasaya—”  
  
“We were in a rut. You didn’t see it – or maybe you did, but you wanted us to be together so badly you ignored all the signs. I could tell our relationship was going stale. And as soon as that guy returned a second time, I could see what he wanted. And I knew what _you_ wanted.”  
  
“No—” Moniwa started to shake his head slowly, couldn’t make himself or Sasaya stop. “Please, don’t—”  
  
“I should’ve ended it between us. But I didn’t want to be initiator, so I turned a blind eye. Especially on that night—”  
  
“Don’t!” Moniwa bit the inside of his lip in an attempt to control his volatile temperament; teeth split skin and he ran a tongue along to swipe at the spilt iron. “You’ve always been like that, like you’re the wise one, knowing better. Like you know me better than I know myself.”  
  
“I did—”  
  
“No, you didn’t! I was the one who cheated on you, Sasaya! I – _cheated_ – on you!”  
  
The vibration of his words violently jogged the memory that corroded the walls of his tightly sealed container.  
  
_“You should never do a tryst where you’ll get caught—”_  
  
_“Sasaya, this isn’t—”_  
  
_“—what it looks like? What’s he doing, checking the needlework on your boxers—”_  
  
_“Hang on, aintcha Sasaya, that bartender—”_  
  
_“Technically? I’m his boyfriend. Though I see Moniwa’s having second thoughts—”_  
  
_“Probably cause you can’t satisfy him—”_  
  
_“Kamasaki!”_  
  
_“You’re probably right, Kamachi—”_  
  
_“Sasaya, this isn’t – I didn’t mean for this to happen—”_  
  
_“Yeah, you did, otherwise you wouldn’t be doing it, though it would’ve been nice if you’d said to my face you were unhappy. I may’ve not liked it but I’m not an unreasonable guy. I would’ve let you go.”_  
  
Moniwa startled out of the memory, noticing Tendou with his wide eyes and raised brows, and he glanced to the side at his forgotten audience – Bokuto’s mouth hanging open and Iwaizumi standing next to him with a furrow of his brows.  
  
“Is it still cheating when I knew… and let it happen?”  
  
Moniwa’s gaze snapped back to Sasaya.  
  
Sasaya smiled, sadness tinting the edges. “You were intent on proving your fidelity, even if it meant pretending to be happy. You couldn’t see how much it was suffocating you, but I could the longer we were together – you needed something more than loyalty and steadiness. You ride the edge on twists and turns, get off on surprise. I was bitter nothing I did satisfied you. So I let you and Kamasaki get close. I even gave him tips on how to get to you.”  
  
“You – you can’t have—”  
  
“I was outside that room, waiting. Had to be, I knew there was a chance you’d have felt too bad and stopped halfway, and I needed you in the act for you to take the blame. I just about managed not to burst in before you were done – nothing worse than a ruined orgasm.”  
  
The pristine image of Sasaya crumbled like paint flaking off to reveal a rust-infested core.  
  
“I’ve said and done a lot of things in my life, but never anything to cause the guilt I’ve been dragging around since you left. I always wanted to find you to tell you it wasn’t you. There’s nothing more I can say than – I’m sorry, Moniwa.”  
  
Without pausing, Sasaya turned to Tendou. “What’s he to you?”  
  
Tendou sat up from being allowed to participate in the conversation. “Interesting,” he said without a waver.  
  
Sasaya snorted. “Oh, he’s definitely that. Judging by the looks of you, you’re about the same. You two’ll get on all right.”  
  
Sasaya stood up while draining the rest of his drink and putting it onto the table. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a couple of notes, which he smoothed out and dropped next to the glass. “This should cover it—”  
  
“We’re not finished—”  
  
“We are, Moniwa.” Sasaya turned his back to him.  
  
“Don’t give me all that and then walk away!”  
  
Sasaya stilled.   
  
He turned back around, slouching to shove his hands into his pockets.  
  
“That’s what you did. It’s only fair I do the same. I don’t need forgiveness from you to move on. But I always knew you needed one from me. You deserved one despite what you did – I was the selfish bastard who forced you into thinking you were the bad guy.” He grinned, easy and unrestrained. “You won’t make the same mistake again, I can see it. This one looks crazy enough for you to make it work.”  
  
Moniwa wanted to shout at him to stop, to give him more, to re-explain what had just happened, all the words meshing into a bulk that clogged up in his throat.   
  
At the sound of the ringing his legs gave way – he gripped the lower counter, hunched over to control the heaving breaths—  
  
“Go home.”  
  
Moniwa looked up to find Iwaizumi standing over him.  
  
“I know I’m not – I didn’t – I just need to—”  
  
“I don’t care.” Iwaizumi’s growl was soft, betraying the coldness of his words. “I don’t care about the choices you made. I don’t need to know the details. I’m just telling you, you need to go home.” Iwaizumi glanced over to Tendou. “And you can stay for another drink. It’s on me.”  
  
Tendou dramatically threw his hands up with his shrug. “Well. Who am I to say no to a free drink?”  
  
“Iwaizumi—”  
  
The piercing gaze threatened him into silence. “I didn’t ask for excuses. Keep that mouth of yours shut and walk out that door.”  
  
He glanced to Bokuto, who started when their eyes met and nodded furiously.  
  
It was like the walk of shame as he strode around the doorways past Tendou’s seat – the rhythm faltered with a single slowed step – and the bells rang hard as he stepped outside into the cool night air.

Moniwa closed the door to his apartment with a soft thunk and lowered himself onto the raised floor to stare back at at the door, tears streaming, nose dripping, and the sound of quiet, trembling breaths echoing in the dark.  
  
How much of Sasaya’s words and actions had been true? Had Moniwa really been so blind to himself and the situation between them? He relived his mistake, over and over, trying to pick apart their relationship with the new revelation, and the more he guessed, the more the answers grew obscure.  
  
He didn’t make his way to FES. He didn’t fall asleep. Instead he rested his head against the wall and let the defence he had built disintegrate.

* * * * * * *

Moniwa stood outside the door to The Black Cat on Thursday, as always one hour earlier than the two expected.  
  
He had fallen asleep at some point that night, groaning awake to a crick in his neck and his body chilled in the autumn night. He spent the weekend nights at FES on autopilot without a single sighting of Tendou; whether or not Terushima and Kita sniffed something out of place, they acted like everything was fine.  
  
His day off was spent in bed. No alarms. No laundry. No food. No sound except for questions that branched into others anew.  
  
Wednesday swept by. Kuroo spoke to him as if he didn’t know what had happened. Azumane was the same, though he was less skilled at hiding the concern rising to his face every time they spoke.  
  
Moniwa dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out the key, pushed it into the lock and turned – to find it already open.  
  
He peered slowly inside – pointless when the bell gave him away – and found Kuroo wiping down the shelf of ornaments, cats lined across the counter.  
  
“Kuroo?”  
  
Kuroo looked over his shoulder. “Make a start on those, will you?”  
  
Moniwa closed the door with a quiet jingle behind him. “You knew?”  
  
“It pains me that you think so little of your manager. And so you know, I used to clean them, just not weekly.”  
  
Moniwa walked over to the counter where a cloth was set ready, and began to wipe down the jade cat curled up asleep.  
  
“Bokuto and Iwaizumi already told you what happened, didn’t they?”  
  
“The vodka? Yeah, that’s on me, I really wasn’t feeling great—”  
  
“I’m talking about—”  
  
“Right – the angry customer. I wouldn’t worry about him – from what Bo told me—”  
  
“Kuroo!” Moniwa clenched the cat and cloth.  
  
Kuroo didn’t speak while he finished cleaning the furthest end of the shelf and then made his way to the other end of the line of cats to start wiping them down.  
  
“Do you want to talk about it?”  
  
Moniwa opened his palm and prodded at the stone warmed by his hot palm. “I rather we didn’t.”  
  
“Then what else do you want me to say?” Kuroo put down the cat he had been cleaning and picked up another. “You remember what happened when our roles were reversed?”  
  
Moniwa released a soft sigh. “Is this you getting back at me?”  
  
“Me getting back at you would be calling Tendou and having him come in before opening so you’ll talk to him.”  
  
Moniwa lifted up his head. “You didn’t.”  
  
“No, because I don’t know his number—”  
  
The bell rang and Moniwa turned to chatter coming from Bokuto – and Tendou.  
  
“So I did the next best thing – get Bokuto to go over to FES and have Terushima call him in.”  
  
He turned back to Kuroo. “How do you know Terushima—”  
  
“He’s a reference on your resume, which, yes, I do still own. And it’s not like he hasn’t been calling me like a telemarketer since day one, trying to bribe me into firing you so you’d work for him full time. Wouldn’t mind meeting him in person one day, sounds like a fun guy. Anyway – you’ve got a customer waiting on a drink.” Kuroo looked past his shoulder. “Bo, you wanna lend me a hand over here?”  
  
Bokuto walked past, and Moniwa got two hearty slaps on his back that made him stumble.  
  
“I’ll have the usual,” he heard Tendou cheerily say from behind, followed by the sound of metal scraping on tile.  
  
Moniwa walked past Kuroo and Bokuto already bickering over names of the cats, and went round to behind the bar so he could pull up the usual list of ingredients. He focused on his hands at work, pushing down any questions threatening to arise by clenching his jaw.   
  
He was about to put the glass down in the gap between a carnelian cat crouching in readiness to pounce and a milky-quartz cat curled with his head buried behind his paws when he heard Tendou say, “Why the dark look?”  
  
Moniwa paused, staring down at the drink in his hand. “I don’t... know what to say to—”  
  
“That’s great! I do, so I’ll start. I already had you figured.”  
  
Moniwa was almost hooked, raising his head before he forced it back down so he could keep a firm lock on the hiding cat. “I’m sorry?”  
  
“You’re very attractive, Kaname-kun. Personality-wise, you’re a nice guy – very friendly. People like you – people trust you. Looks-wise... granted, you’re not ‘a wild Adonis appeared!’ attractive, but you do have a homely, ‘blink and miss it, double take and – hey, you’re actually decent-looking’ sort of look about you, and I like that.  
  
“So it was fishy how you spent half the week drowning yourself in people’s tears and half in beats that’ll eventually do some serious damage to your ears – you should probably invest in some ear plugs by the way, and maybe lip-reading classes. No rest, no play, and you wind back at work even on your off day. You don’t talk about your relationship, so you had to have one turn sour. You don’t actively look for anyone, so you had to be the one to blame. You don’t think you deserve love, so you push any chance of it away. And when one does keep coming back to knock at your door, you stay hidden under the duvet with your hands over your ears, pretending to be out. You don’t get a reaction like that simply from snapping after a string of days with dirty laundry scattered around the house and rubbish bags forgotten by the front door.”  
  
Tendou held out his hand, made a ‘gimme’ gesture. “Can I drink that? I’m all dried up from that speech.”  
  
Moniwa shook himself awake and held the drink out to him.  
  
Tendou took it without making a grab for Moniwa’s hand or even attempting a brush of fingers, both of which Moniwa expected. He plucked off the pick, took a sip with a delighted moan and licked his lips. “You know, I thought Testurou-kun was lying when he told me you’re his best barman, but you can believe me when I say you really do make the best drink – I should know, I’ve ordered this since I was at uni. And that even includes everyone here.”  
  
Moniwa found his voice. “You’ve been here on other days besides Ushijima’s?”  
  
“My guesses can only take me so far.” Tendou looked up at him. “Does it make you uncomfortable knowing I’ve been scoping out?”  
  
“I wouldn’t say uncomfortable—”  
  
“Pleased? Excited?” Tendou narrowed his eyes slyly. “Turned on?”  
  
“Tendou – say I’m… drawn. What I’ve been feeling since – since I—” Moniwa averted his gaze. “Since I cheated on Sasaya and left him, I’ve been living with this guilt for – for _years_. I can’t erase that just by what was said last week.”  
  
Moniwa hadn’t said those words aloud in so long they almost felt like a lie. And regardless of what Sasaya had said – that cheating wasn’t cheating when he knew – Moniwa continued to believe otherwise.  
  
“I don’t expect you to. You’d be surprised to know, I’m actually really patient—”  
  
“What do you want out of this?” Moniwa asked, finally looking up to find Tendou’s expression was as carefree as his voice. “Why do you want me, really? Knowing that I could potentially cheat on you too?”  
  
Tendou broke out into a chuckle. “You couldn’t. You’re actually a bad liar, people just don’t know how to read the signs. And I’d know about it before you’d even try.” He whet his smile and there was a piercing glint to his eye. “You are, after all, talking to the Guess Monster.”  
  
“The Guess – _what_?”  
  
“Guess Monster,” Tendou repeated, back to his airy self. “It’s what people used to call me way back in school. It’s because they were jealous that my guesses were always right.”  
  
The little backstory didn’t draw Moniwa astray from the main topic. “So we’ll get together and then – what? What will you do once you’ve found out everything you need to know? Get bored and find someone else to solve?”  
  
“Now, _usually_, seeing the pain on peoples’ faces after I grind them to the bone makes me hugely satisfied.” Tendou lost his smile. “But you’re special. I don’t like the idea of not knowing everything there is to know about you.”  
  
Moniwa swallowed. “But what happens when you do?”  
  
Tendou hummed, drawing it out while he thought. “Then I get to gloat that I know everything there is to know about you. But that’s impossible. What you think today won’t be what you think tomorrow. Opinions constantly change. As do people. And we’ve already established you skew from the norm.” Tendou slid all three raspberries off the pick and said with his mouth full, “I couldn’t get bored with you.”  
  
“Then… what do we do now?”  
  
Tendou swallowed and thrust himself forward – Moniwa jumped, but stayed in position; there was a glass-width between them.  
  
“Announce we’re officially together and seal it with a kiss. Okay, maybe not kiss, that’s still too early for you. And actually we don’t need to do any announcing considering—”  
  
Moniwa blinked at Tendou raising his hand between their faces, and his finger pointing off to the side—  
  
Bokuto was once again staring at him open-jawed, Kuroo was leaning against the counter with a grin plastered across his face.  
  
Moniwa quickly looked back at Tendou. “I forgot they were there—”  
  
Tendou’s hand was in his hair, loosely clenching, pushing him forward, just pausing short of them bumping their noses together before he veered to the side; lips brushed against his ear.  
  
“I bet people think you’re too wholesome for PDA,” Tendou purred. “But I’m guessing your heart’s almost racing out of your body as I speak – not from nerves, oh no, you don’t know the meaning of the word – from the thought of people watching you get physically intimate, the thought of kissing in front of them – so _scandalous_, Kaname-kun – and your head’s telling you you don’t deserve it as your body’s simultaneously fighting to lean in, wanting a taste right now because the tension building up inside is getting to be too much—”  
  
Tendou released him, pushed himself back into his chair, the private bubble he had created tearing just as swiftly as it had enclosed them. “But like I said – I’ll take my time. We can even see who’ll break first. Oh – but I guess we already did that with you.”  
  
Every time they met, the accuracy of Tendou’s predictions improved. And every time, Moniwa grew attracted to the man whose expressions and emotions and reactions were variegated, who on the surface liked the simple things – chocolate and rhythm and homely men – but enjoyed them twisted and meshed and complex.  
  
A lot like the way he liked things to be.  
  
“Tendou—”  
  
“_Satori_.”  
  
“Satori-kun – could you… lean in again?”  
  
Tendou shot forward – Moniwa didn’t bat an eyelid – returning to that teasing distance.  
  
Moniwa reached out – slowly – threaded his fingers carefully through Tendou’s hair; he had been right about the softness but it was more tangled. He took extra care not to clench too hard as he mimicked Tendou’s earlier move, leaning forward so his lips hovered just by his ear.  
  
“I bet you think my defence is wide open for you to traipse in and take your pick of the ‘goodies’ inside. What you don’t realise is, it was only a matter of time before something triggered it to dissolve – around my deepest darkest secret. Everything else – all my other secrets, my beliefs, _my heart – _is contained within a defence I control. And it takes more than a few knocks and turns to get through each layer.”  
  
Being more susceptible than Tendou, his voice quivered as he spoke, affected by a faint tingle he hadn’t felt in a long time. But as he straightened to see the dark look return in Tendou’s eyes, along with a grin that threatened to devour him, Moniwa knew all past flames had been extinguished and his words fanned the present one ablaze.  
  
“Kaname-kun. I do so love a good challenge.”  
  
A piece of iron – sheening from being scrubbed, wiped, oiled and polished – shifted and slid into place with a sweet click.


End file.
